


close your eyes until it's over

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Held at Gunpoint, Hurt Dick Grayson, Now with fluff!, Possible Character Death, Public Execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: No, no, no. Dick doesn’t want him to see this. Not Damian. Anyone but Damian.Whumptober Day 3: manhandled, forced to their knees, held at gunpoint
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 19
Kudos: 254





	1. Chapter 1

Dick’s eyes water vigorously, blurring his vision behind the mask. It’s a struggle just to breathe with the barrel of the gun shoved into his mouth, and his jaw is aching from it. He can taste blood welling up from the spots where the harsh metal scrapes at his hard palate.

Really, Sionis, there are better ways to hold a person at gunpoint, but Black Mask apparently didn't have any patience for Nightwing’s signature chattiness today. Plus, he seems to be in the mood for some theatrics, so a simple gun to the head clearly just wasn’t enough. 

At least Black Mask doesn’t seem to care about revealing his identity at the moment. He just wants a spectacle, a warning to the rest of Gotham’s heroes. He must be really pissed that Nightwing and Red Hood wrecked a big op of his last weekend. 

He’s been shoved to his knees at the top of the stairs in front of Gotham National Bank, a gathering of Black Mask’s men and civilians alike crowding around. It’s going to be a whole mess later, he’s sure of it, but right now it’s just  _ humiliating.  _ Dick’s cheeks burn with it as he tries unsuccessfully to tune out the whispers and jeers. 

“This is what happens,” Sionis is saying, “when you try to play hero in  _ my _ city.” He jams the gun in harder to emphasize his point and Dick gags, coughing and retching around the metal. 

His jaw is trembling, knees aching, and he has no clue how he’s going to get out of this one. Even if Batman and the others show, there’s not much they’d be able to do about the gun practically lodged in his esophagus. 

He does his best to try and keep his breathing calm and steady, to keep from giving Sionis any satisfaction, tries to stop the tears from making their down his cheeks, but _fuck._ He doesn’t want to die like this. 

“Nightwing!” 

The sudden scream tears at his heart, and he squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. When he opens them again, Damian has pushed and shoved and fought his way forward to the front of the crowd. He’s thrashing and yelling, but Black Mask’s men finally get a handle on him, two of them holding him between them as he sags in their grip. One of them grabs the back of his hair, hauling his head up to look at Dick and Sionis up on the landing. 

_ Grayson. _ Dick watches his mouth move soundlessly, repeating his name over and over.

No, no, no. Dick doesn’t want him to see this. Not Damian. Anyone but Damian. 

_ Look away, kiddo, _ he urges silently.  _ Please. Don’t watch. Close your eyes.  _

Damian is ignorant to his pleas, eyes so, so wide behind his mask as he stares at Dick, at the gun jammed roughly into his mouth. He is trembling, but Dick can’t tell if it’s from rage or fear. Maybe both. 

“I’ll kill you.” Damian’s voice is shaking slightly. “You will die for this, I will make sure of it.”

Dick watches him with sad eyes, wishing he could shake his head. Damian has come so far; Dick is so, so proud. Has never been more proud in his entire life than when he looks at the progress Damian has made. He doesn’t want Damian to break his vow for him.

“Sure, little baby Robin. You can definitely try. Won’t save big bird here, though. Maybe you should just let him be a lesson to you and quit the hero business for good. Wouldn’t want you to end up like him, now would we?”

Damian lets out a wordless howl, once again thrashing against the hands holding him in place. They have to bring in two more guys to hold him back—just when Dick thought he couldn’t be any more impressed by his Robin.

Static buzzes in his ear making him jolt before Tim’s voice cuts through. “Hang in there, Wing. We’re almost there, okay? Just a little longer.”

They’re not going to make it. Black Mask clicks off the safety and Dick can’t keep from flinching. He regrets it immediately when he sees Damian’s knees buckle, his struggles tapering off.

“No, no, no,” Damian mumbles, and honestly he’s probably too quiet for his words to truly reach Dick’s ears, but they scream in his head anyway. “ _ Please. _ ”

_ Don’t watch, Dami, please. You don’t need to see this. Look away. Close your eyes.  _

“Almost there…” Jay now, in his ear. 

He loves them so much. He’s going to miss them so much. He hopes they take care of each other when he’s gone.

“Goodbye, Nightwing,” Black Mask drawls. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but,” he shrugs impassively, “it really hasn’t.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut and prays that Damian is doing the same.

_ Close your eyes close your eyes close your eyes  _

There’s a scream and then a bang and then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

His return to awareness is slow, rolling over him like smoke and settling against his bones, but as slow as it is, it’s also heavy. There’s a weight knotted tight in his chest, squeezing at his heart. 

He’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be alive. He heard the gun go off, for Pete’s sake, the gun that had been shoved halfway down his throat. You don’t come back from that, not even in this family. 

For a moment he considers that maybe he _is_ dead, and this is some sort of sleepy afterlife. But no. His head is pounding too hard to be anything other than alive. 

“Grayson? Are you awake?” Damian’s voice is sleepy and slow, but rising in pitch and volume quite quickly. Dick winces slightly as it reverberates inside his skull. Ow. 

It’s not until Damian sits up that he notices the empty space where his baby brother had been pressed up against his side, head on his shoulder. 

“I apologize,” he says, mercifully quieter now. “You have a concussion.”

Dick tilts his head, prying an eye open to gaze up at Damian. He’s kneeling on the edge of the cot, hair rumpled, face creased with the folds of the t-shirt Dick has been changed into, eyes wide and staring. 

He looks the same as he did before, young and scared as he watched his older brother’s murder. Dick swallows, throat scratchy. He didn’t want Damian to see. 

“How?” he asks, unsure of what he’s really even asking. How is he here? How is he alive? How is Damian? How did he go from a gun in his mouth in one instant to laid up in the medbay with a headache the next?

Damian almost rolls his eyes. Almost. His hand inches closer to Dick’s on the mattress. “Drake tackled you, without very much grace, but that’s to be expected.” 

Damian is scowling now, refusing to really meet Dick’s eyes. Half-blindly, he takes the hand Dick offers him, squeezing far too tight, nails digging in painfully. Dick knows Damian, knows that he hates feeling useless, feeling _weak,_ more than anything else, and last time Dick saw him, he was pinned and helpless to anything but watch Dick’s murder. He wiggles his hand slightly, until Damian loosens his grip just slightly, and then squeezes back for all he’s worth.

 _I’m right here,_ he tries to say. _I’m alive and I’m here. I’m not going anywhere._

“I heard a shot?” he asks instead, but it’s still so confusing.

“Todd,” Damian answers. “He shot Black Mask in the thigh before he could pull the trigger on… on you.”

Dick squeezes his hand harder. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You will not do it again,” Damian insists, finally looking at him again. His eyes are red-rimmed and slightly puffy, shining dangerously even as he glares. He’s doing that thing where his nose gets all scrunched up, and Dick would find it adorable, was he not preoccupied with the guilt of having inadvertently traumatized his kid. “Regardless if I am present or not, Richard, you will not almost die again. Promise me.”

Dick smiles, gentle and sad and aching with love. “I’ll do my best, kiddo. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Damian studies him for a long moment, brows furrowed as he searches Dick’s expression for any sign of insincerity. There is none. Dick will do everything in his power to avoid a situation like _that_ ever again. 

He knows how it feels to watch a ~~parent~~ family member die, knows intimately how badly it can wreck you. The last thing in the world Damian needs is that specific trauma. 

(He doesn't dream of his parents’ death very often anymore, but he knows he’ll never forget that moment. The sounds of them hitting the ground, the sight and smell of blood in the sawdust, in their hair, on his hands, the helpless panic and disbelief gripping his heart. He remembers that night with more clarity than he remembers his mother’s voice or his father’s laugh. It’s not an experience he would wish on his worst enemy, much less on his favorite kid.)

“Hey,” Dick says gently, tugging on Damian’s sleeve. “You’re okay, right? Everyone else is alright?”

Damian nods. “Yes, Grayson. You were the only one injured. Well, Drake may have fractured his ulna when tackling you, but that’s what he gets for behaving so rashly. Surely there was a less extreme method of getting you away from Black Mask.”

“He broke his arm?”

Damian waves him off. “He may have just been whining. If anything, it is a hairline fracture. He is fine. Besides, he did it to himself, so forgive me if I have no sympathy.”

“Damian,” Dick chides, but he’s not really in the right headspace for any sort of lecture. He lets him off with a disapproving sigh for now.

Damian shifts, moving to crawl off of the cot. “I am supposed to alert Father or Pennyworth that you are awake—” He lets out a rather undignified yelp as Dick tugs him down into his arms.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you text them, and stay right here, instead of walking all the way upstairs.”

“It is not that far,” Damian grumbles, even as he nestles in against Dick’s side. He burrows close, knobby knees digging into the flesh of Dick’s thigh. “You will not be able to coddle me for long, Grayson. Father and Pennyworth will be down here shortly. No doubt they will want to do their own examination.”

“It’s fine,” Dick mumbles. He’s tired again, sleep tugging at the edge of his consciousness, impossible to fight off when he’s so warm and cozy, an unusually cuddly Damian hugged to his chest. His eyes droop closed. “Just a concussion.”

Damian _harrumphs_ and Dick hears the hidden message there. It could have been worse. It was almost so much worse. He squeezes tighter, burying his face in the hair at the crown of Damian’s head and breathing in the faint scent of his shampoo. Damian turns his head, ear pressed to Dick’s chest, his breathing slowly synching to match the beating of Dick’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

“It is not your fault,” Damian murmurs. 

“I know, but I’m still sorry.”

Damian sighs heavily. All of the pent-up anxious energy seems to drain out of him.

“Close your eyes, kiddo,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry this will definitely have a part two :)


End file.
